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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770298">Peace and Land</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick'>WriterChick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quite Alive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confident Male Lead, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Frustration, Insecurity, age gap, strong female lead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:22:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arriving at Eorforwic is not what Stiorra anticipated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sigtryggr Ivarsson/Stiorra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quite Alive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Peace and Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiorra stalked out of the great hall, determined to leave a pair of handsome eyes attached to a particularly smug smile, well behind her. She thought she had come to know Sigtryggr, or at least gained a better understanding of the man. It appeared now as though she could not have been more wrong. They had only been in Eorforwic just past sundown and already she had been cast aside and forgotten--their time together on the road nothing more than a memory. In favor of what? Peace and land, in the form of duty and sovereignty. She felt him step away from her, and watched him order others. All kings were the same, be them Christian or Dane.</p><p>Soon after they arrived at the gates and announced their presence--explaining what it meant for the people who had already been taken over once--Sigtryggr handed her off to a woman named Setta, telling her to find a chamber. As if she could be so contained. It was stupid of him to think he could simply put her away, like a dolly in a cupboard. </p><p>Stiorra's cheeks heated at the memory of such ill treatment, and her feet fell harder on the stone as she paced. She had not chosen to be alone in the south western hall for its view. The once beautiful gardens in the courtyard below were still ruined, trampled by Aethelflaed’s army. No, Stiorra had slowed to a stop in this particular hall because it was empty. It was also the furthest away from the sounds of men filling their faces after weeks on the road. And it was away from Sigtryggr and the anger and disappointment that thinking about him brought. </p><p>Setta was not a Saxon from the city, but instead a Dane they had been traveling with. She was pretty and kind and completely useless, being that she knew even less about Eorforwic than Stiorra did. She would be no help in finding a suitable room, or know anything about the castle they were to inhabit. Perhaps if Stiorra had conversed with the girl more while they were on the road, she could have argued against her assistance. She barely noticed her at the time, so distracted by her talks with Sigtryggr. </p><p>“You-”</p><p>Stiorra startled at the sudden voice behind her back. She whirled around to face its owner, knowing well who it belonged to. Sigtryggr’s voice was distinct to her now after weeks hearing it in her ear, singing its songs of peace for his people.</p><p>He was less than an arm's length away--too close. Father would be disappointed that she had allowed someone--anyone--to become this close without noticing his approach. His gaze fell to her frown as he finished, “Are upset.”</p><p>How dare he come to such conclusions about her? Whether or not they were true. He had no right to assume that she was upset, as if he could read her so easily. He knew nothing of her, but the fit of her body against his--for warmth. Only for warmth, and only on the road. Under no other circumstances would she allow herself in such a compromising position with a man such as he. </p><p>Even though she had been agreeable to leaving with him after their time together in the old king’s favored chamber…</p><p>That had been to sate a curiosity, though. Yes, only that. She was not besotted with him by any means, only curious as to his intentions. Stiorra would have taken no issue with learning his mind and leaving him in Eorforwic--if he hadn’t offered to warm her that night, and every night since then.</p><p>That was of no matter now, because despite how intoxicating Sigtryggr smelled, and how delicious she imagined he might taste, Stiorra would leave him behind. Just like he left her behind in that courtyard. Stiorra bit the inside of her cheek and cursed herself for being so foolish as to let her guard down for a few fleeting moments with one man who stood out among the rest. </p><p>Stupid girl. </p><p>Stupid child. </p><p>With no shield to raise, Stiorra braced herself for whatever assault--however sweet or bitter--to come. She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t recall saying such a thing.” </p><p>His head tilted in question, his smile lessening. “You didn’t have to. Your eyes are roaring.”</p><p>What?</p><p>“What is the cause?” </p><p>Not <em> what </em> but <em> who </em>.</p><p>Something about the man demanded her honesty, and she had never been particularly skilled at deception anyway. She scoffed at his question, and her own futile attempt at dodging it. What did she truly have to lose anyway? She was already there, miles away from home--wherever that was anymore--with the remnants of a romantic fantasy stubbornly stuck in her head like the muck in her boot.</p><p>He reached for her and again she retreated a step. “Ahh, I see now.” His expression grew serious as he realized that he was the source of her discontent. “Though, I do not understand.” </p><p>Of course, he would not. He was a man too much like her own father, caught up in his causes. She spit poison at him before she could think better of it. “Add it to the list of the many things you do not understand in this land, Sigtryggr.” </p><p>His palm slapped over his chest dramatically and he pretended to wince. “You wound me.” </p><p><em> Not as much as you have me </em>, she thought to herself as she pursed her lips. Now was not the time for humor. He did not seem to notice or care, his smile returned with his hand still over his heart, as he took another step forward. She attempted another step back in retreat when his other hand shot out and caught her arm. “Do not run from me, Stiorra.” </p><p>“Taking leave and fleeing are not the same thing,” she grit through her teeth. </p><p>Sigtryggr used his hold on her to draw near. “Is that what you are doing?” She could feel the warmth of his body now, so close to hers. The smell of his leathers, mixed with a sweet wine from supper filled her nostrils as she listened to him ask, “Taking your leave?” </p><p>Silence was her sharpest weapon. </p><p>Sigtryggr could not tolerate it. He had never said as much, but she knew it to be true, regardless. He was always engaging her in conversation, often taking on the role of listener. When she ran out of things to say, he would encourage her to read or tell him stories of the land. At first she believed it had all been to learn more of the Saxons, though over time, she had begun to believe that perhaps it had more to do with the sound of her voice than the content of her tales. </p><p>His eyes searched hers, his voice lower--more intent, as he asked, “Had your fill of me already?” </p><p>She should have held her tongue. She knew that. Truly, she did. That knowledge, however, did nothing to stop her from retorting, “I should be asking you the same.”</p><p>Her words fanned the embers between them to blazes. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he hovered above her lips, to look directly into her eyes. “You create a craving that can never be sated, Stiorra. Only fed.” </p><p>And yet, it was he that fed her fantasies. </p><p>Steeling herself to the man before her, she closed her eyes. Unfortunately, Stiorra was unprepared for the way her other senses compensated for her lack of sight. She could swear she heard his heart beating--or was it her own? </p><p>She drew a deep breath to compose herself. It might have worked if it had not also pressed her breast into his and lit a fuse that traveled down to her core. For weeks they laid together, her head on his chest, or her back to his front. They had faced one another under the stars, bundled in the same bedroll, as well. Yet, never before had she felt him hold her in such a way as to let her melt against him--or feel the effects such an embrace may have had on him. </p><p>Anxiety was getting the better of her. Either this would lead to nowhere or somewhere she had no knowledge of. Unable to bear another moment of such torture, she accused, “It’s you that’s had your fill of me!” </p><p>Embarrassed by the tremor in her voice, her eyes snapped open to watch his blink back at her. Creases formed to either side of his light blue eyes, as a slow grin spread. “You do not seem like a woman who bothers with insecurities. What has caused this change in you? Hmm?” He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. “What did I do?”</p><p>Stiorra pressed her lips together and inhaled. It was not fair that he was asking after her anger while engaged in such an intimate gesture. It also was not fair that he should be so caring rather than laugh at her embarrassment, as she was so ready for him to do.</p><p>“Or did I not do?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>The movement felt funny against her forehead and she bit back a smile, not wanting him to see how easily he was changing her mood for the better. “You pawned me off at the first chance you got.” </p><p>His jaw dropped. It was amazing how even in this look of horror, he somehow maintained a smile. He was mocking her, or at the very least, not taking her seriously. Unless he was, and he was genuinely surprised to hear her interpretation of events. Before he could say anything, she added, “And issued me a guard.”</p><p>Completely ignorant, he asked, “What guard?”</p><p>“Setta.” </p><p>A soft chuckle escaped his lips. </p><p>Stiorra reeled back and slapped his chest, careful not to let her hand linger on it as she did. “Do not mock me!” </p><p>“Oof,” he chuckled again and rubbed his chest as if her strike had actually inflicted pain. “It is customary for ladies to have other women assist them with dressing and other things.”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, she tried not to notice the cool air that chided her for pushing him away. She had been so much more comfortable, basking in his warmth. He was just as much to blame as she. He knew that she hated being called a lady--delicate and demure. “We have already covered this ground,” she warned. </p><p>Sigtryggr had the good sense to heed her warning and refrained from responding with any attempt at humor, which she knew was particularly difficult for him. Instead, he agreed--until he did not. “So we have. Although, while you do not like to think of yourself as a lady, you still are one.”</p><p>“To who?”</p><p>“To everyone that matters.” </p><p>“And who would that be?” </p><p>“Me.”</p><p>His admission left her without words. She had been furious, and now she was incredulous. Did he think of her as a lady because of who her father was and what her name could do for him? Like so many men in his position. Or, did he think of her as a lady because of something he saw in her? Instead of asking either of those questions, an entirely different one bubbled up to the surface before she could catch it and tamp it back down. “Did you bed her?” </p><p>His expression changed from conviction to inquiry. “Who?”</p><p>A small part of her appreciated that he was willing to drop one trail of thought to follow her down another. It made her feel less crazy--or at least, less judged if she was. “Setta.”</p><p>“No.” His reply was quick, but not too quick as to be untrue. </p><p>She let go of the breath she did not realize she was holding.</p><p>His head cocked to the side, his grin wide and unabashed as he asked, “Is this what has you spitting fire? You think I gave you a maid that I humped? So that she will tell me your every move?” </p><p>No. </p><p>Yes.</p><p>She hadn’t even thought of that last part. If she had been wrong about his intentions--his interest--then the concern was not that ridiculous. After all the time they had spent together, she was certainly justified in her ire. </p><p>Sigtryggr wrapped his arms around her again, breaking her free of such reflection. And she let him because there was no fighting against his powerful arms or that sinful smile. “I love your mind, Stiorra,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Even when it works in the wrong direction.” </p><p>She tensed in his grip, not appreciating the way he goaded her--or that it was working to distract her. She bit the inside of her lip hard to keep from talking. Either he had not noticed her frustration, or he chose to ignore it--the later more likely. He ran his lips from her forehead down to her temple, where he pressed another small kiss before nuzzling his nose into her hair. Silence had been her greatest weapon against him, and yet, through touch he was finding a way to evade it. </p><p>It would serve him right if she stomped on his foot and bolted. She would make no such strike against him, however, as she remembered the chill she felt at his absence the moment before, and loathed to experience it again. His cheek pressed against hers and her eyes closed again, letting herself feel all of him.</p><p>His voice was warm honey poured over the softest bread as he whispered in her ear, “I do not need a woman to spy on you.”</p><p>If she thought silence was a weapon, she was sorely mistaken. His voice--<em> this voice </em>--was incapacitating. She locked her knees to keep from sinking to the floor from it’s timber. “Nnn-o?”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>That one word tickled her insides as much as the feel of his hand spread wide across her back, his fingertips dipping just a little lower. She cleared her throat to ask, “And why is that?” </p><p>“Because,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. "My eyes never leave you.”</p><p>Having felt those eyes on her enough, Stiorra knew his words to be true. Such honesty stirred low in her belly and left her without the ability to articulate any meaningful response. “Oh.” </p><p>His smile was triumphant and if she wasn’t so affected, she would have swatted him for such cockiness. “And you should know, Stiorra,” he paused, rubbing his thumb over her ribs without relinquishing his hold of her. “That I have not humped a woman since I came to know you.” </p><p><em> And what about before? </em>She didn’t ask it, yet he could see the question in her eyes all the same. </p><p>“I did not hump Setta,” he testified before the scrutiny of her gaze. “There is no woman here that I have.”</p><p>Stiorra held her breath, letting his words and their implication sink in. A clean slate. He was not the virgin she was, but to remove any woman that knew him so intimately, was as good of a fresh start as he could give her. That was assuming he was not the sort to go off a woman after enjoying her a few times. He was a king here, after all. He may not have all of his ex lovers lingering around him anymore, but that did not mean that there would be any shortage of women grasping for power in his bed. Neither did it mean that he would not welcome the chance to slake a thirst whenever it arose--even if there seemed to be something more substantial between them than that.</p><p>“Yet,” she said. The word and the realization that accompanied it was a rock falling in her belly, waiting for it’s crash. </p><p>His smile faltered as he searched her eyes--noting the sudden sadness in them, no doubt. Letting go of her waist, he reached for her neck, trapping her there with him. She did not struggle against his change in hold, still too affected by her thoughts.</p><p>Again, his face hovered close to hers. And again, she was flooded by his scent. His eyelids grew heavy as he leaned even closer. The briefest brush of his lips against hers had a million horses taking gallop inside her. Stiorra closed her eyes and let her instincts take over, opening herself to him. </p><p>This was not only the first time she had been kissed by Sigtryggr, but the first time she had been kissed at all, ever. It was nothing like what she had imagined with any of the boys she had known, because this was with a man--a real man. Sigtryggr was older, more mature, more accomplished. He was confident in the way he explored her, striking a balance between taking and giving. She would wonder if it had been his experience that created this skill, or if his way was specific to her--only that she was fast forgetting to care. An entirely different heat rose in her cheeks and a small moan escaped her. </p><p>He swallowed that moan, taking it for encouragement. His lips on hers, melted the world around them to nothingness. She stumbled a little when he took a step forward, backing her against the stone wall. Where she was clumsy and uncertain of her movements, he demonstrated grace, catching her without ever breaking from her. </p><p>On the battlefield, a warriors’ movements needed to be fluid. They needed to have both singular focus on their target, as well as a hyper awareness of their surroundings. It was how they were able to sense danger and dodge a critical blow in the nick of time, how they adapted to their opponent. Knowing this, it was reasonable that Sigtryggr would be more alert than she. </p><p>Perhaps his familiarity was not so much with a woman, as it was with the conditions of battle. Stiorra rather liked that idea. If this was combat, she would see him yield. There was a fire brewing between them--one he stoked and she basked in. Not anymore. She too could throw kindling on this flame. </p><p>What had started off tentative, turned determined. Stiorra focused on the soft but sure feel of his lips against hers, the scrape of stubble against her chin, the taste of his tongue sliding over hers, and let go. She allowed the small cries of pleasure, she had been trying to stifle, free. She reached for him then, pressing her palms against his chest. Even through the leathers, she could feel the definition of muscle she had yet to lay eyes on. </p><p>Never before had she noticed just how much larger--stronger, he was than she. Not on any of the occasions when they stared into each other’s eyes, talking the day away. Or, even when she was folded in his arms at night, and could feel their differences. She definitely did now. He was an immovable block of muscle, towering over her, consuming her. </p><p>Her touch transformed him from a patient man with questionable intentions to a shameless heathen with only one very obvious motivation. Stiorra felt more than heard, his growl in her mouth. It was possessive in nature, telling her without words that while she was in his grasp, she was his. The question remained, however, whether or not they would still belong to each other past that moment. </p><p>It was on that thought that Stiorra drew a deep breath and resisted, gently pushing against Sigtryggr’s chest. When she felt him pull from her lips, she opened her eyes to see his--black and heavy lidded--gazing back at her. They said nothing at first, only stood together, still living in what they shared.</p><p>When the silence had served its purpose, Sigtryggr released her and Stiorra dragged her palms down his chest until they fell to her sides. </p><p>“Yet.”  </p><p>Though his response echoed her own, there was no mistaking it for an agreement. If anything, it was a promise. He would most certainly be welcoming a woman here in Eorforwic to his bed, and judging by that kiss, she was that woman.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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